


The Whole Way Down

by earnestsam



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Complicated Familial Relationshiips, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempts, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, pls be careful friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnestsam/pseuds/earnestsam
Summary: He can’t breathe.It’s something that happens, sometimes, he knows. He’s done a little research, but he hesitates to call them what they are because Shadowhunters shouldn’t everpanic.





	The Whole Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, friends! I really enjoyed working on this fic! I love writing for catharsis purposes, and it was definitely cathartic. Plus, I had so much fun being a part of this bang (even though I'm terrible at checking my discord messages lmao.)
> 
> Anyway! Part of that catharsis was very much due to my deciding to explore Alec's mental health. As such, I've tagged a few triggers you might want to know about before reading, but I'll re-iterate them below. Nothing is particularly graphic, but please be careful all the same. <3
> 
> General discussions of mental health and therapy, panic attacks, self-harm similar to that of 2.05 (though it is not graphic), suicidal thoughts, discussion of Alec's suicide attempt from 2.08 and Magnus' suicide attempt from Pre-Canon, and somewhat complicated family relationships. 
> 
> So please be careful! 
> 
> ALSO! I couldn't have created this fic without the help of my lovely, wonderful beta, who is wonderful and lovely. Find @causteek on tumblr for me and say thanks for telling me to get rid of weird line breaks, ill-placed commas, and the repetition of the line "Magnus hums in acknowledgement." Truly a lifesaver. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Alec doesn’t know what it is, the first time it happens.

He doesn’t even know _why_ it happens, because really, what is there to be upset about? He’s just having dinner with some of his family. Jace and Max aren’t here, right now, but it’s still not bad. It shouldn’t feel like this, certainly. Sure, maybe the stony silence both of his parents are exuding isn’t exactly helpful, but he knows it’s not his fault they’re fighting - and he also knows showing his distress will only serve to make things worse. So he doesn’t.

Or, well. He tries not to.

“Are you okay?” Izzy, in all of her ten-year-old wisdom, mouths at him. Alec doesn’t know how to answer; he can’t speak, there’s such a big lump in his throat. He presses against the edge of the table with both of his palms as he shakes his head. Everything is _so much._

Isabelle looks sad for a moment, before sobering up in a way that no child ought to be able to. She smiles as she reaches across the table for Alec’s hand and, begrudgingly, he allows her to take it into hers. Alec can feel the gaze of his mother burning into him, but can’t bring himself to look at her. He screws his eyes shut tight. Like maybe if he’s lucky, and very still, and doesn’t look at anyone, no one will comment on it.

But he’s never really been _lucky_ , has he?

“Is everything alright, son?” Robert, of course, is the first to ask. That’s always the way it is; Robert plays the good cop at first, but Alec knows not to expect unending grace from him, so he tries to nod and smile for show, but he can’t quite manage it.

“I just… I can’t - ” Alec starts to explain, but his breath hitches. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe?

“May we be excused?” Izzy addresses both of their parents and, by the angel, what would he do without her?

Robert opens his mouth and then hesitates, but looks unsure. “I’m not sure that - “

Maryse stops him with a simple raising of her hand. She glances to where Alec and Izzy’s hands are joined. “You may, but please do come back soon.”

Nodding, Izzy agrees as she stands and urges Alec to do the same.

He does, but everything feels so off-balance that he’s not sure he’ll be able to make it out the door. Luckily, Izzy is at his side before he has time to even test his theory, which is strange because he can’t recall her moving. When did she get so fast?

Isabelle grips his hand again and, a moment later, they’re out in the hall of the Institute’s dining room. It helps to be away from all that chatter, but Alec still feels… god, he doesn’t even know what he feels.

Apprehensive, definitely. And distinctly, desperately _panicked._

While he paces back and forth in the hall, trying to get all of this strange and unpleasant energy out of his system, Isabelle leans against the wall with the palms of her hands splayed on it.

“Keep breathing,” she chimes in, every once in awhile, but doesn’t say much otherwise. He finds himself grateful for it; he really isn’t up to talking right now. Or hearing talking. Or hearing anything.

God, he doesn’t want to go back into the noisy, crowded dining area.

Eventually, though, his breathing does even out, and it feels as though whatever pit had landed itself inside his stomach is now gone, which is a relief.

It’d be more of a relief to know what caused it, though. To not have it there at all.

“Good?” Izzy asks when he stops pacing, and he nods, slow.

“Good.”

She smiles up at him, less concerned than she was before, but still caring. Alec tries not to wince when she reaches for his hand; it’s not that he doesn’t want to hold it… but he’s thirteen, for god’s sake. He shouldn’t _need_ to.

When she notices his hesitation, Izzy rolls her eyes and takes it anyway. He smiles. “Come on, you.”

And even though the dining area is still loud and obnoxious, and even though their parents still don’t appear to have said a word to each other, Alec is pretty sure he can get through anything as long as Izzy’s there to hold his hand.

 

Everyone is so mad at him, Alec notices immediately as they crowd in to check on Jace, who’s lying prone on an infirmary bed.

 _They should be_ , that nagging voice in the back of his head tells him. _You’re the reason he’s there._

His father is talking with one of the medics while Hodge stays by Jace’s side, holding his hand. As for Maryse, well -

“You could have gotten yourself killed, Alec! Jace, too!” his mother snaps. Every word she hurls his way makes the infirmary spin a little faster, except no one else but him seems bothered. “You’re the oldest. You should have known better.”

It’s not the first time something like this has happened. In their line of work, people get injured. It’s understandable. It happens. But this time is different. This time it’s _his_ fault, and he knows it. Everyone is _so_ mad at him. He thinks he might die, his chest is constricting so much.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, his glance darting from Jace’s still, unconscious form to her sharp eyes, which soften by a fraction when he looks at her. Are there tears in his eyes? _Fuck._

He’s a soldier. Not only that, he’s an adult, now, really. He’s not supposed to cry, and he’s certainly not supposed to cry over _this._ Jace will be fine; it’s abundantly clear in the rise and fall of his chest, in the pink of his cheeks, in the way that the medics aren’t rushing around anymore. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Except it’s _not_ . He was supposed to have Jace’s back, but he got… but he was distracted, and when Jace had shouted for help, his fingers had frozen up. His bow had been aimed in the perfect position to shoot at the demon clawing at Jace, but Alec hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. Because he got distracted by Jace’s cocky fucking _smirk._ Because he’s dirty, and bad, and wrong, wrong, _wrong._

He can’t be here right now.

“You should go to your room,” his mother sighs. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when Jace is up.”

He nods, curt, and finds himself grateful for the excuse to leave. Part of him aches to stay with his newly bonded, newly injured parabatai, but a much fiercer part is buried deep in shame, so he follows the command easily.

Well, almost.

“Alec?” Izzy asks as he rushes past her in the hall. He thinks he sees streaks of tears lining her face, and he pauses. She reaches out to him, clearly about to say something, but he can’t, he _can’t_. He shakes his head. He allows her hand to rest on his arm for a moment before he breaks away from her grasp, again, and leaves, turning the corner quickly so that she might not see where he’s going.

He doesn’t go to his room. He _can’t_ . He’s spent too much time there with Jace and Izzy ( _oh, god, Izzy)_ , and he knows that if he goes there, all those memories will swallow him whole and bake him in guilt.

Instead, he goes to the roof. He’s still got his bow and arrow with him, and he’s still under a glamour, so he figures _fuck it_ as he attempts to shoot off the roof.

He doesn’t know how long he practices for; all he knows is that he doesn’t stop until his fingers are bleeding and his hands are shaking. It’s something he does, sometimes, when he and Jace are fighting or when other kids have been teasing him. Or when he fucks up in training. He practices. Until he breaks. Until it hurts.

He doesn’t realize he’s lost his grip on his bow until it clatters to his feet.

He can’t breathe.

It’s something that happens, sometimes, he knows. He’s done a little research, but he hesitates to call them what they are because Shadowhunters shouldn’t ever _panic_. Still, he knows what they feel like, enough that he’s usually able to calm himself down.

Izzy used to help. Sometimes, when she’d sneak into his room and find him huddled in on himself, she’d be there with comforting words and an open ear as she listened to whatever was troubling him. But Alec had put an end to that. She’s his baby sister; she shouldn’t have to take care of him. Not that she doesn’t try. It kills him to remember the look on her face from earlier in the night, but he can’t give in. Emotions are weakness.

He just needs to breathe. That’s all. He staggers closer to where the roof ends,  sits, and lets his legs dangle down. The sky is pretty, albeit covered in dark. It’s swirling with blue and black and gray, and the stars are almost reverent in the way their light washes over the skyline. If he could just stay here forever, Alec thinks maybe he’d be okay. Happy, even.

But he doesn’t think that the world really wants him to be happy, and he can’t blame it much. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve it.

It must be past midnight, by now, but he still can’t go back to his room. Shadowhunters live late lifestyles; they go to bed late and they wake up early and they don’t complain. He’s bound to run into someone if he goes back in, and he can’t see anyone, not like this.

Eventually, he stands, patting the dust off of his jeans as he does. He tries not to let himself imagine what it might be like to fall.

He’s halfway to the door back inside when Izzy manages to find him. She looks freezing, and he feels bad for making her come out here. He just can’t seem to stop fucking up.

“Hey,” she says, quiet. She sounds like she’s maybe not too mad at him, but Alec tries not to get his hopes up. She’d have every right to be if she was.

“Hey,” he answers. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“You okay?”

Alec shrugs. With anyone else, he’d plaster on a smile, pretend everything was fine. But it’s Izzy. He doesn’t want to lie to her, even if he can’t find it within himself to tell her the entire truth.

“Been better,” he admits and she nods, understanding. He’s not good, and he’s not sure he’ll ever feel good again, but he can’t elaborate. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Luckily for him, Izzy’s always been good at understanding what he needs.

“Come inside. You’ll freeze to death out here,” she approaches him, grabbing his arm and tugging him back inside.

He smiles and hopes it doesn’t come off as rueful. He’s sad and scared and even a little pissed off, but not at her. Never at Izzy.

He let himself break out there, but once he’s back inside, where people are milling around, he puts his face back on. Unemotional. Even. Stoic.

All the things he has to pretend to be just to survive.

 

No one is with him. It’s a late night - probably morning by now, actually, Alec realizes when he glances at the clock - and Jace and Izzy are both out with a team on a mission while Alec’s stuck at the Institute, filing paperwork.

He almost finds it a little funny that he’s expected to do it, considering that no one’s officially given him the title of “Head of the New York Institute.” Quite the opposite, in fact; his parents had made _sure_ to sit down with him and have a conversation about responsibility and the Lightwood name and what it means to be an interim leader.

He’s tried not to show it, least of all to either of them, but the pressure and the workload is crushing him. It’s a good thing that he never had much of a social life to begin with because Alec’s pretty sure that if he _did,_ it would be completely ruined by now.

Worst of all, right now, Alec’s not thinking about the work. He’s thinking about Izzy and Jace, out there without him. He knows they’re both strong. They’re good fighters. They can hold their own.

But he’s supposed to be with them, helping them, protecting them. _Not that you were ever very good at that,_ his inner voice interrupts, slow and snide. But at least he’d been doing _something_ instead of sitting here, his mind straying from the ever-important task of shuffling through and organizing Clave orders.

The thing is, he’s wanted this job since he was a kid. But now, all he can think about is Izzy, lying on the ground, a big hole in her chest and bleeding profusely. Or Jace, limp in the arms of a murderous demon.

A cold sweat takes over him. It’s far too easy to notice the shaking of his hand when he reaches for the bottle of water sitting on his desk. A sharp intake of breath overwhelms him.

He can’t do this. He can’t sit around here while everyone he loves gets hurt. What the fuck is he doing?

Pressing his palms against the edge of his desk, Alec thinks that the pressure feels nice. He looks at his hands a moment later, sees the soft red imprints, and tries not to imagine his mother telling him to _stop_ , that he’s overreacting, making a fool of himself.

Alec can’t breathe, he can’t do this, he -

He can’t do _this._

As he straightens his back, Alec wipes his hands on his jeans. Forces himself to take slow, even breaths. And then he picks up the last thing he’d been working on, ignoring the occasional stutter his heart does and the way his stomach is rolling. He thinks he might be sick.

But he can’t.

Alec’s meant to be a soldier. Hell, he’s meant to be a leader.

He doesn’t get the luxury of crumbling.

 

Magnus, in all his time on this Earth and especially given his time as the High Warlock of Brooklyn, has learned the subtle, intricate art of reading people. Even people like Alec, who seems to have themselves under lockdown, they’re so self-controlled.

Of course, in the time since they’ve been dating, Alec has shown more of himself than, Magnus now realizes, he’s shown _anyone._ All his fear, and his love, and his joy, Magnus knows, doesn’t come easily for him to express because he’s so used to thinking of emotions as weakness. But he’s been trying to be more open to Magnus, and Magnus positively adores when he gets to see that side of Alec.

Usually. Today, though, as he stands addressing the Institute about the new protocol for going on missions, Magnus can't help but notice the way his hands shake. Imperceptible, to anyone who didn’t know him well, and judging by the severe lack of a mess of orange hair, cocky smirks, or Isabelle’s radiance, Alec must think anyone who might be able to tell is gone. Still, shaking hands are hardly cause for too much concern. Alexander, after all, does have a tendency to get rather jittery with a little too much caffeine in his system.

Magnus lets himself be pulled away by some Shadowhunter who insists that the wards need to be looked at with little resistance. He’d come here to see Alec, of course, but Alec is still wrapped up in a conversation with a few stubborn Nephilim, and Magnus has never been one to turn down a paying job.

So, it’s about twenty minutes later when Magnus goes searching for his boyfriend. It doesn’t take much searching, really; Alec spends little time in his bedroom at the Institute these days, and when he’s not at the loft, or on a mission, he’s practically glued to his office. Ever since he’s become head of the Institute, in fact, Alexander is constantly overworking himself, so Magnus figures he’ll find his boyfriend typing furiously at his computer or else scouring through some legal document or another.

That’s not what he finds. It takes a moment to really _see_ Alec because he’s not even in his chair - he’s sitting on the ground with his back to the side of the desk, knees pulled up to his chest and encircled by long arms. His eyes are shut tight and Magnus isn’t sure Alexander even knows he’s in here right now.

His breath is shallow, and his hands are still shaking, even as he tries to stop it by clasping them together. But perhaps worst of all are the tears not quite streaming yet, but gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Magnus has never seen Alexander like this. The only other time he’d seen Alec cry was the day of the Soul Sword attack when he’d thought Magnus had died and they’d held each other late into the night.

That day, Alec had looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Now, he just looks resigned.

Hesitantly, afraid of spooking him, Magnus kneels down at his side. Alec’s breathing has grown even more ragged, and Magnus wants nothing more than to hold him until he’s calm, to at least take his hand, but he doesn’t think that’s what his boyfriend needs right now.

“Alexander,” he says, sure to keep his voice soft, “let’s count to ten, alright? It’ll help you to breathe,” he adds, searching Alec’s face for any sign of an agreement. The tears have started rolling down Alec’s cheeks; Magnus catches a small nod and smiles sadly.

It takes a while for Alec to be able to really participate in the counting, but by the end, his breathing is calm and even again and the tears have stopped flowing. Alec wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and then buries his head in his hands.

“I’m - I’m sorry,” he whispers, the first words he’s spoken since Magnus arrived.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Magnus says firmly, finally taking Alexander’s hand in his own. Alec laughs, but it sounds nothing like his usual laugh. There’s no joy or amusement; only brittle, bitter embarrassment.

“It feels like there is.”

Magnus wants to ask him about it, wants to let him talk about it, but Alec looks so worn out that Magnus decides to let him be for now. Instead, he gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want to go to the loft?” he asks instead and Alec nods before he can even think, so Magnus knows it must be what he really wants.

 

It’s a while before Alec talks again. They’re lying on Magnus’ bed, and Magnus has his arm thrown over Alec’s side, and part of Magnus is content to just stay there and let Alec be. It’s been a rough day, evidently.

But Alec is full of surprises, as always, because eventually, he turns to Magnus and begins talking about it - a feat indeed. Magnus couldn’t imagine them having a conversation like this even a few weeks ago, but after everything that happened with Valentine, they’ve grown closer than ever.

“It’s not the first one I’ve had,” Alec says. Magnus hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t speak yet; oftentimes, Alec needs a few moments to process what he’s going to say, and Magnus would never dream of rushing him. “I’ve had, uh, panic attacks. Before.”

“I figured you might have,” Magnus says softly, trying to keep his voice soothing.

“I don’t like feeling weak.”

At this, Magnus reaches for Alec’s cheek and lays his gentle hand there. “Panic attacks don’t make you weak, Alexander. Far from it. To endure it the way you do, to still be alive…”

Alec shudders, and Magnus knows they’re both thinking about the day of Max’s party, when Alec almost didn’t make it. Seeing his boyfriend standing on that ledge, to this day, is one of the most devastating things Magnus has ever seen. He’s been there himself, and he wouldn’t wish feeling that way on his worst enemy, let alone the man that he loves.

“I haven’t… things haven’t gotten that bad, since the party. I mean,” Alexander adds, hesitant as he plays with the hem of the blanket and deliberately doesn’t look up at Magnus. “I’ve, uh, thought about it. But I don’t _want_ to. I wouldn’t, I just - “ Alec’s getting worked up, now, and Magnus is afraid that he’s going to start hyperventilating again, so he’s quick to act.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, taking Alec further into his arms and placing an easy kiss on his forehead. “No one’s blaming you for how you feel, Alec. Least of all me. I understand what you’re going through.”

“You said that before.” Magnus nods, and now it’s his turn to not quite be able to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?” Alec tries.

Magnus finally blinks up at him. It’s not that he’s never told this story to anyone - he told Simon, for god’s sake - but it feels different, to have Alexander know. It makes him feel more vulnerable, somehow.

But there’s not anything he wants to hide from Alec, he’s quickly realizing. And Alec’s looking up at him with so much earnest and gentle care that it’s easy to believe he’ll be understanding.

“It was the anniversary of my mother’s suicide. I… I hadn’t been doing well. I was still with Camille,” he adds, for as much as she’d saved him, that night, she’d also been part of the reason, “and I despised myself. For what I did to my mother.”

“Hey,” Alec says. “You didn’t do anything to her.”

“I know, darling. I know that now. But back then, I couldn’t help but blame myself. So, I did something drastic. Well, tried. It was Camille who stopped me, in the end.”

“I’m glad she did,” Alec mutters. “I’m… I’m so glad you’re alive, Magnus. You’re so important.”

Magnus smiles. It feels strange to talk about these things with someone. He hasn’t in such a long time. But looking at Alec, he feels as though he could share just about anything with the other man and it would be well-received with kindness and understanding. Alec doesn’t give himself enough credit.

“You too,” Magnus replies. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

Alec hums but says nothing further on the matter. He leans up and blinks a couple of times. “You, uh, mind if I take a shower?” he asks. Magnus tries not to frown. He knows talking about things like this doesn’t come easily to Alec, though, so if his boyfriend needs a break, he won’t deny him that right.

“Of course, go ahead,” Magnus agrees as Alec begins climbing out of bed. He stalks off to the nearby bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Under other circumstances, Magnus might join him, but it’s been such an emotionally intense day already, and somehow, Magnus doesn’t think now is the right time.

He knows this can’t be the end of their conversation, though. Because Alec still seems so… afraid. Unsure. Lost, like he can’t ask anyone for help.

And that simply won’t do.

So Magnus waits. It takes longer than usual (because Alec, ever the soldier, normally takes perfunctory five-minute showers), but Magnus isn’t surprised. He knows his boyfriend; he probably thinks that if enough time passes, they don’t have to have the conversation. But they do. Magnus knows they do. He wasn’t lying when he told Alexander that the most devastating thing he’d seen was him standing on that ledge. He can’t stand the thought of seeing it again.

“Hey,” Alec says, a towel wrapped around his waist as he heads to the drawer where he keeps his spare clothes. They haven’t quite gotten _there_ , yet, to the living together part of it all, but honestly? Alec spends so much time in the loft, these days, that he might as well live here.

Not that Magnus is complaining. He’s really, really not.

He means to say something witty. Something that’ll lighten the mood a bit. Instead, Magnus says, “have you ever been to therapy?” and it stops Alec dead in his tracks.

“I, uh - what?”

“Therapy. You know, you pay a medically trained stranger to listen to your problems and give you advice.”

“I - no, I haven’t.”

Magnus frowns. Alec is still searching for a shirt in the drawer, shuffling through black socks and pajama pants, and Magnus can’t help but think that he’s only doing it so that he doesn’t have to meet his eyes.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t expand on anything as he speaks. Normally, Alec would explain whatever he was thinking, but Magnus gets the feeling that he’s still trying to push the conversation away.

“Alexander, will you just talk to me? Please?”

Alec sighs. He picks up a shirt and slides it on and as he does, says, “I am, I’m, I’m trying, it’s just…”

“Difficult, I know. But it’s important, darling. These panic attacks… they’re hurting you, causing you pain, and I fear that one day, it will be too much. That you’ll do something drastic, with or without the help of magic.”

Alec sighs. He sits down on the edge of the bed and Magnus leans up to kiss his cheek and take his hands in his own. It takes a minute for Alexander to gather his thoughts, but Magnus doesn’t rush him. He would never dream of it.

“It… it feels like I’m falling, sometimes, you know? Like how when you’re barely asleep, and you start dreaming that you’re falling through the air and you jerk awake. Except the awake part doesn’t come and I’m just falling, helpless, and my breathing gets all weird. And I don’t… I don’t even know why it fucking happens.”

Magnus runs his thumb over Alec’s arm soothingly. “It’s hard to say. Sometimes they have triggers, but sometimes they’re just random. I know that some of my own panic attacks have been triggered by things that upset me, but it’s different for everyone. It’s okay not to know. But… I really think that seeing a therapist might benefit you, Alexander.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t annoy Magnus at all. It makes him feel like maybe things are getting back to normal. Like Alec will be okay soon.

But then he remembers what he’s trying to convince Alec of and he knows that the normalcy won’t last if something doesn’t change.

“Sorry, it’s just - it’s not exactly like the Institute has, uh, those particular resources.”

“They don’t?”

Alec shrugs. “Mental health has never really been a big priority there. If you can fight demons, in their eyes, you’re okay.”

Trying not to let on how angered he is, Magnus thinks. It’s not the best solution, but…

“Well, you could see a mundane therapist.”

Incredulity flashes over Alec’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll admit it’s not the perfect situation, but it could help. I don’t want you to suffer, Alexander. And,” Magnus worries his bottom lip with his teeth, hesitating. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Alec drops his hands from where they were rubbing at the sides of his neck and looks at Magnus pleadingly. “Have… have you ever been to one? A therapist, I mean.”

Magnus nods. “It was Ragnor who convinced me to go. It was after Camille and I broke up. I was still dealing with a lot of stuff, and he knew that I needed help,” Magnus explains. He tries not to avert his eyes; he himself knows that needing help is nothing to be ashamed of - after all, that’s what he’s trying to convince Alec of - but that doesn’t make it easy to admit. “I went for every week for three years. I still go on occasion, when I really need it. A different therapist, of course, considering it’s been quite a while and I haven’t aged a day.”

Alec looks up at him with something like guilt in his eyes. “Did you go after what happened with Valentine?”

 _Fuck._ There’s a secret ruined. He can’t very well tell Alec that he needs to go therapy and then lie to him about not going when he needed it, now he can?

“No. I should have, but there was so much going on.”

Luckily for Magnus, Alec seems to accept this at face value. “What… what do you talk about in therapy? I mean, I guess I would talk about the panic attacks, right?”

“It depends on what you’re struggling with. Only you can know what you’re biggest problems are and what you need help with. But for you, yes, I’d say the panic attacks would be a start. I… I talked about the… the suicide attempt, obviously, among other things.”

Alec nods and Magnus is unspeakably, unbearably happy because he can see it on his boyfriend’s face. He’s getting through to him.

“I don’t,” Alec begins, eyes darting away before glancing back to Magnus, “I don’t want to go alone. Could you… could you come with me?”

Hoping it comes across as reassuring, Magnus squeezes Alec’s hands where they lie in his. “Darling, if you’re falling, there’s nothing I’d love more than to be there for you the whole way down. Okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Alec can’t stop his leg from moving up and down, up and down. There’s this weird sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and though he knows that this is for the best, he still can’t help but be nervous.

“Alexander Lightwood?” Alec looks up from the medical magazine he’d been flipping through—they were displayed on a shelf in the waiting room—and swallows. The woman at the desk had offered him a water but he’d declined, feeling awkward enough as it was. He’s starting to regret that now.

He glances to Magnus, who’s sitting on the couch next to him and offers him a reassuring smile.

Right. Right.

Alec stands and walks to the door where the doctor is waiting for him. He’s ready. He can do this.

He’s pretty sure he can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Come shout at me on tumblr @starlightswait!


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